The Last Fusion
by Fazzinator18
Summary: Christmas Eve, one year later. Akira opens the door of Cafe LeBlanc, looks to his old friends and reluctantly recounts the dreams he keeps having of someone they all presumed dead: Goro Akechi.
1. Chapter 1 (04-20 19:20:47)

PROLOGUE

He awoke in chains, like he always did. Somehow they seemed to weigh heavier this time, as if they wanted to keep him there, chained to his bed forever. Part of him would like that. The game was over; he had failed. What else was there to do except sleep? He wouldn't need to think, wouldn't need to feel any of it ever again.

Regret.

Hatred.

Longing.

Consuming him from the moment he woke up to the moment his consciousness finally let go of him.

For the first time in his life, he would be free. He closed his eyes again and waited, trying to let go of the bittersweetness of it all holding him back. Instead, he heard a deep chuckle come from the small light in front of him.

"My, my. This truly was an unjust game. The justice you once fought for seems to have finally abandoned you, once and for all."

He said nothing. What was the point of all this? Yes, he had a destiny, a purpose, but it had gone now. He had well and truly been defeated. There was no point in reflection any more. Except...

Memory came back to him in short flashes. He held on to them, but the meaning behind kept slipping away. The deep voice started again.

"Your bravery and tact was unprecedented. You have battled with all your strength, that much, I can admit. However, it has all been for nought. You were bested by the very people you were fated to destroy."

He forced himself to sit up, angry now. Was that entirely true? Was he merely a pawn in the workings of a larger, much more complicated game? Instinct told him that he wasn't.

"I find myself at an impasse with you. Your abilities are exactly the same as that of your worst enemy. However, it stands to reason that two different fates should not coexist. One of you were bound to destroy the other, in the end."

Something had changed, it must have. He had been defeated, that much was clear, but his defeat was not what had killed him. Something had definitely changed towards the end. He had not killed his sworn enemy, and he had not killed him. So what was it?

The flashes of memory started to come into focus.

The slamming of a large, metal gate. His own face, twisted and evil, melting into nothingness. His voice croaking from the bullet wound that his monstrous other self had given him.

"Fight my father... In my stead..."

Of course. It was only in the last moments of his life that he had come to realise his true enemy. It had, however, meant the end of him. He had not followed through with his rehabilitation, and that had sentenced him to death. But that was perfectly fine. Jealousy had turned to admiration, and his dying wish had been accepted. Relief washed over him, taking him out of his confusion. Everything was clear. He was no longer seeing through the eyes of the victim, the manipulated. He stood up with newfound strength and hobbled towards the barred gate to meet his maker. He decided to use the voice that had so often hidden his true self from others. Polite, charming and ever so slightly amused, as if he knew something his listener didn't.

"I'm afraid you haven't been keeping with the times, old man. It turns out I was never truly meant to destroy the Trickster after all. My purpose, my reason to live, it was all wrong." He chuckled to himself. "You could say I had a change of heart. I died a Phantom Thief, assisting my true friends in our mission." He relished the thought of rebelling against his own destiny, the rules and prophecies that had come to control his life. Until now.

If the man before him was shocked, he did not show it. Instead, the wide grin across his face seemed to spread even further.

"Do you know why you are here?" he asked simply. "Perhaps you will indulge me. You and the Trickster were brought into this world to prevent ruin. You are both more connected than you might think. Your names are rather similar for one thing. Why, even this room..." He looked around the familiar set of cells, lit by a bluish hue. After a few moments, he continued. "The hearts of men are wretched and unfulfilled, and measures must be taken to ensure that chaos does not reign. The Trickster was tasked with preventing the destruction of the world as we know it. You, on the other hand, were to be the one to bestow that destruction. Either way, humanity would start again, free of desire, and have a second chance at redemption. This was the game, and it has truly been most entertaining to witness."

The old man looked incredibly satisfied, as if he expected this to happen all along. This was unnerving. Surely he himself was the person that was always one step ahead of everyone else? He sighed inwardly. That had been disproved when he had unknowingly failed to assassinate his past enemy. This was new. He had no idea what lay ahead, or if anything lay ahead at all. What he had just been told had led him to believe that everything in his life, everything that had happened, seemed to be dictated by whatever was sitting in front of him. The old man straightened his crooked form.

"You say your fate has been changed. I believe you. If the realm of matter is truly beyond saving, I shall enter the fray myself and pioneer a new world order for mankind, so that humanity may never fall into chaos. In this case, you would have a new use for me."

His eyes widened, and he realised that he was afraid. This man, this... being... had much, much more power than he let on. He was at the mercy of the omniscient. He longed to be away from this place, back in the warm, friendly presence of a certain suburban café...

The old man stood up, looking deep in thought.

"In fact, I grow tired of earthly games." The man's voice had become deeper, more distorted. He stepped back from the bars, chains clinking on the concrete floor. The man lifted off the ground slowly, his eyes becoming brighter. The room seemed to grow darker and smaller around him, as if he were commanding the very atoms around him to recoil. The cell door flew off its hinges. The boy inside trembled with fear.

"Ruin will be arriving momentarily. Come." The old man's mouth was no longer moving. The large ball connected to the chains restraining him started to move of its own accord towards the being. He began to walk, silent and shaking. The few, precious moments of freedom the boy felt before his death were destined to be the only moments he would ever feel it. Without trying to break free from his shackles, he followed the being out of the room and out of sight. Beyond the realms of dream and reality, mind and matter.

 _AUTHOR'S NOTE_

 _So I finished Persona 5, and it's become one of my favourite games of all time. However the game did leave me with a few questions, questions I hope to address in this fic. I haven't written fiction in a while, and I don't tend to excel in large projects at all, but I hope what I have in mind makes it. It's very cathartic for one thing. For now enjoy this lil' one shot, giving a taster into some of the themes I want to explore. Any critique/pointers will be greatly appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

"Kurusu!" Professor Arima's voice shook Akira awake. "I said, in which world exactly is sleeping in class more important than knowing your exam dates?"

Akira blinked harshly, adjusting to the afternoon sun in his eyes. "Apologies, Arima-sensei", he said quickly. The Professor turned a drained expression, as if he didn't have the energy to bother with him. Either that, or he was quietly afraid that the rumours that everyone swapped about him were indeed true. Akira had come to know from extensive experience that bad reputations spread like wildfire. Rumours became exaggerated, and their judgement stuck. Pity he couldn't avoid the stigma around him like he used to. His mind trailed back to the days when he was allowed to sleep in class, owing to the deal he had made with his old homeroom teacher, Ms. Kawakami. Normally he'd keep on listening to the lesson out of guilt, except on the days that he was too tired. These were normally the days after he and his friends would...

 _"Well..."_ he thought to himself. _"Some of my_ _after school hobbies were more intense than others."_ Before long he began to feel a deep sense of longing, as he always did when thinking about the events of last year. Seeing where he was now, immersing himself in deep, long daydreams about those days was seldom a bad idea. What had started as an unfair and scary probation had turned into the best and most exhilarating few months of his life. Right now it felt like the only proof that any of it had ever happened was taking his third nap of the day below his desk. Morgana didn't have to worry about teachers throwing pens at him when he inevitably drifted off in class. Instead, he was resigned to keeping Akira company whilst the rest of his hometown labelled him as the delinquent who failed his probation. It seemed wherever he went, people seemed hell-bent on making him out to be something he wasn't. When in Tokyo, he almost thought it funny, the idea of complete strangers throwing rumours around about him. It was easy to think like that back then, because he was protected by those he loved. Now, people he had known for years didn't dare look at him when he walked past in corridoors. He had been banned from the grocery shop he had frequented since his childhood. And everyone, everywhere, hung on every last thing he said and did for any kind of malicious intent.

In the end, it was draining. Being angry or upset about it was both pointless and dangerous. The hearts of the public may be free from control, but how could they ever become free of lies and half-baked rumours? As if to answer him, Akira could just make out a small sigh coming from under his desk. Whether that sigh was meant for him or the teacher; he did not know. Akira had come to rely on Morgana, so much so that at any given time, he'd likely be able to tell what he was thinking. This was reassuring at best, formidable at worst. He remembered being told once that if Morgana were to ever become human, he and Akira would be very similar. It would make sense, because by now Morgana had lived in two very different periods of his life and, mercifully, had not abandoned him. On a sunny day, he could look under the desk, squint his eyes and imagine he was dragging his way through English in Shujin Academy. He imagined Ryuji not-so-discreetly waving at him through the classroom window because he had skipped his lesson, earning a sharp look from Mr. Inuba. Ann, sitting in front and red-faced, would send him a very strongly worded text.

Akira caught himself grinning. Unfortunately, so did Arima-sensei.

"Think this is funny, Kurusu-kun?, Well, perhaps you can educate me on the more humorous aspects of being thrown out of school for the third time in your life." Arima-sensei had lost his temper. Had this been last year, he might have thought up some smart reply with just the right amount of crassness, perhaps earning a grin from Mishima. He looked down, allowing sensei's words to sting him. This was not last year.

He spent the rest of his lesson in silence. His promise to himself had been to live a normal life, that of an honest student. But perhaps that wasn't enough. A normal student life did not usually come with being a convicted criminal, having a talking cat as one's best friend, or a history of fighting monsters in a cognitive dimension. How could anyone expect him to abandon everything that had made him so unique? Simply go on living, as if nothing had ever happened? Accept the monotony of getting up, going to school, coming back, eating dinner and going to sleep? It was the very way of life he had fought against. Corruption and desire came from feelings of being unfulfilled. If you weren't fighting for what you love, you were doomed. He longed for the cold night air of Tokyo, crossing Shibuya and gazing up at the large neon signs. The smell of Central Street, of ramen and cigarettes. The world his oyster.

For a while, he had come back. Whenever there was a holiday, or a birthday to celebrate, Akira would count the days on his bedroom calendar, doubting he'd ever be able to bear another minute at his hometown. The euphoria of being back with his friends, if only for a night or two, was far too fleeting. He'd look at the people he loved sitting around him, chatting happily over coffee, and feel out of place. They all had to stay where they were. He had come to feel like an imposter, someone who had invaded the life of someone much better than he. And as soon as the reunion had begun, he was on the train back home. After a while, home was comforting. Not having stares thrown at him, passing barely contained whispers berating him through the corridoors. He could feed Morgana, go to his room and lock the door, lest any of his past and present demons follow him there.

It was getting to his room unnoticed that posed the problem.

The bell rung. Students all around him stuffed books and pens into their backpacks as fast as they could, and shuffled for the exit. Akira hung back, taking his time. Partly from tiredness, and partly to enjoy the rare feeling of everyone facing away from him. He wrote down the whiteboard's instructions for homework in more detail than he needed to. Studying had become an escape for him, a way to feel productive whilst safely distancing himself from his peers. An old friend of his had done this, before they met and changed each other for the better. She was further away even than Tokyo, going to university. A new life, with new friends. Somehow the thought didn't comfort him.

He shuffled off his desk, trying not to make eye-contact with Arima-sensei.

"Not so fast, Kurusu." Akira tried his best not to groan. "What's going on with you? You're top of the class, but whenever you're here it's like you're in a different world."

"I wish," he heard his backpack mutter. Akira shrugged and apologised, eager to get going.

Arima-sensei looked down at him, somewhat kindly. "A word of advice, Akira-san. Study at school, not home. That's where you relax, not your classroom."

"I will", Akira said, and quickened his pace out of the classroom.

The buzz of chatter in the main corridoor he stepped out to wasn't something he needed right now. He untangled his earphones from his blazer pocket and pressed them in his ears. His phone wasn't charged so he couldn't listen to music, but it was better than nothing.

He stepped out of school and headed to the nearby alleyway, where there were less people. The journey home in Tokyo had always been something he enjoyed. He could stop by Shibuya and watch a film in the cinema, or read in the café on Central Street.

Back home, the walk took five minutes. He crouched low, unzipped his bag and gave Morgana some more space.

"He's right, you know," he began. You wouldn't have to study so late into the night if you focused a little more. Cats sleep for most of their life, you know, I can't scratch you awake all the time!"

Akira propped him back up and started walking again. "I like studying at night," he told him. "It's quiet, I can get some alone time."

Morgana wasn't letting him off that easily. "Oh yeah? When was the last time you _weren't_ doing something by yourself, hm? And I don't count!"

It was the same question Morgana asked almost every day, the same statement.

"Of course you count," he replied. It was unfair of Morgana to expect him to have a wide social circle, after all that was circling around him. At least, that was what he told himself.

He exited out onto the side road, the same one in which he had once wrestled a drunken politican's hands off a scared woman, the beginning of it all.

"Damn brat! I'll sue!"

The words echoed through him as they usually did at this place. The ghost of that night crept up on him, as he walked past the exact spot he had pushed Shido on to the floor, his victim looking on in shock and fear. He walked on, passing the cars in heavy traffic. The streetlamps around him slowly flickered on as the light around him grew dimmer. He liked this time of year, when he could walk home in the sunset. Maybe it was the appeal of being harder to notice in the dark. "Old habits die hard," he thought to himself. Many of the trees still had leaves, and it wasn't quite cold enough for a coat yet. A strong breeze swept through the neighborhood, making his tie and blazer billow backwards. His hair had become a mess, even more than usual. He quickened his pace and turned at the little driveway where his home stood, lit up invitingly.

He turned the key and stepped inside, his glasses steaming up from the nearby radiatior. He thought he smelled yakisoba coming from further in the house, and his stomach groaned in response. Lunchtimes at school were better spent sleeping in the library than having to endure people breathing down his neck while he tried to eat at the cafeteria. His body only seemed to allow him to be hungry and tired when he was alone, and could relax properly. He threw his blazer to the side, untucked his shirt and collapsed on the living room sofa.

"Take your shoes off, dear," his mother spoke from the kitchen, but right now he couldn't and wouldn't move. Morgana scurried out of his bag and followed the scent of yakisoba in the kitchen.

He plugged his phone into its charger and read "November 28th, 17:21." Scrolling through his social feed, he came to a picture of Ann, Futaba and Ryuji having udon down in Ogibaba, surrounded by textbooks and stationary. He smiled, glad that Ann and Ryuji were still spending a lot of time together despite the coming final exams. Ryuji had always been one to repress the seriousness of exams, spending long hours in the night playing video games in an attempt to de-stress. But there they were, getting meanigful revision done together, likely covering different subjects for one another. Part of him wanted to call Ryuji up, asking if they needed an extra pair of hands. Cramming the night before an exam wasn't nearly as stressful if your best friends were in exactly the same boat, after all. _But Ann and Ryuji are already best friends,_ he thought to himself with a hint of regret. He wondered how Yusuke prepared for his art exams. Likely inside the less tasteful outlets of Shinjuku district, trying to capture "true beauty". He smiled to himself. He hoped he was okay, and eating more than once a week. Futaba wouldn't have any problems with exams, owing to her somewhat scary photographic memory. If she wanted to, she'd likely be able to hack into the exam board's server and get the marking scheme from there. Futaba would likely finish the whole thing in ten minutes, then go near-insane from trying to keep quiet and still for the rest of the hour. Come to think of it, Akira hadn't ever seen Futaba away from a laptop for more than ten minutes. He could only imagine her stress. He scrolled further, hoping for more of a window into life back in Japan. He came upon a news article:

 _"Yoshida_ _: 'I will not make the same mistakes as Shido,"_ he read. He opened it, curious.

 _"If you've ever walked down Shibuya's ever busy Station Square after a late shift from work, you've likely had a listen to the dreams of one of Japan's most controversial politicians. Yoshida had his reputation slandered after the infamois scandal, earning him the nickname "No Good-Tora," but it's easy to see the romance in building his reputation back, brick by brick._ _Turn the clock forward a few months, and now he's running for the prime minister's chair, at the top of his league. We sit down with him in his favourite restaurant on Central Street for a chat._

 _"Trust needs to be earnt." he begins. "If you aren't putting the effort in every day with what you care about, there isn't any point. I started out with being as honest as possible, and those who were kind enough to listen are the ones who put me here today," he maintains over a hearty dish of beef bowl soup._

The rest of the article was full of things he remembered Yoshida telling him. What had Sae-san said Christmas Eve? _"Give us adults a chance to make things right."_ It seemed that the public's changed heart was warming to the idea of people like Yoshida taking care of the country. It was a reassuring thought.

"Here you go, sweetie. I know you haven't been taking your lunch with you to school, so make sure there's nothing left on that plate." Akira's Mother had put a generous portion of vegetable yakisoba on his plate. The tangy flavour drifted over to where he sat, making his stomach rumble.

Akira smiled, grateful but embarrassed at his mother's concern. "Thank you, Mother."

He wolfed it down eagerly. He saw Morgana looking at his own plate of cat food, recoiling. He separated a bit of his food for him, and it was gone in seconds.

Afterwards, he went into the kitchen and pulled out his coffee brewing kit from the drawer. A birthday gift from Sojiro. He picked out the Mexican coffee beans and got to work grinding. Making coffee after a long day of staring and scoffing was comforting, to say the least. Once the water was at the right temperature, he tipped the neck into the ground beans and watched them rise. The smell took him right back to LeBlanc, and it must have been doing the same for Morgana too, as he had jumped up on his shoulder and leaned forward as much as he could.

'This won't help you sleep, you know,' Morgana reminded him.

'I'm not trying to sleep, I'm trying to catch up on work,' Akira replied. Exams were two days away, and he needed to go over his notes if he wasn't going to break down on the day.

'You're gonna doze off in the exam, and when you do, I'm gonna bite your leg off,' Morgana retaliated. Akira ignored him and headed upstairs to his room. Not for lack of trying, Akira failed to close the door before Morgana had squeezed through. Being disturbed wasn't on his to-do list for tonight. He sighed and dragged himself to his desk. He faced away from Morgana and stuck his head on his textbook. He reached into his pocket for his earphones and cursed silently when he remembered that he had left them downstairs. Morgana wasn't going to give up that easy.

'How are the others?' he asked.

'Fine, I guess'.

'Just... fine?'

'I'd assume so.'

'They miss you, Akira. And you miss them.' Morgana looked down, dejected.

Akira faced him, annoyed. 'I'm trying to study, Mona.'

Morgana gave up and lay down on his bed. Around this time he'd expect Morgana to start messing around with the lamp, or assault his desk with his claws. Instead, he curled up and didn't make a sound. After a while, he spoke up. 'I heard you muttering in class today, while you were asleep.' Akira looked to him, slightly bemused. 'What was I saying?' he asked. Morgana began to speak, but stopped himself. 'Well... you were dreaming weren't you?' he looked somewhat worried.

'Not that I remember,' he said, nonchalant.

Morgana stood up, his pupils wider than usual. 'Oh. Well... I don't want to bother you, but it... _sounded_ , like you were saying... Crow.'

Akira shifted uncomfortably. He took a few moments, seeming to look into the distance. 'I... must have been dreaming of Akechi.' He leaned back into his textbook, refusing to say any more.

Morgana looked as if he was about to say more. He really wished he wouldn't, lest he became more distracted than he already was. Morgana moved closer, looking concerned.

'You don't... you don't blame yourself, do you?' he asked, barely above a whisper.

'For what?'

'...For what happened.'

Akira closed his eyes, not daring to move. Not for the first time, he pictured the giant metal gate crashing down, and Akechi's feeble voice, pleading to avenge. Unwillingly, he remembered another voice, just as regretful.

 _"I really wish we could have met two years earlier."_

Akira leaned back from his desk and shot up.

'Not in the mood." He collapsed on his bed, trying to think about something else, anything. He even considered taking a walk to take his mind off things. But like Futaba, his room had become something he did not escape easily.

 _"A piece of trash, living in an attic! What makes you so much better than me!? How do you have everything that I don't!?"_

 _"But I don't have it. Not any more,"_ he thought bitterly to himself. He had had friends, someone he had loved, but there were only traces now. He was more alone than he had ever been in his life. If anyone knew what he was going through, it was Akechi. Maybe that was why he was dreaming about him. But he had been shot dead by Shido's twisted version of Akechi, his last act a heroic sacrifice. It was then he had revealed himself as a mirror to Akira. His true Persona, Loki... Akira had been using Thor when they had battled. Brother against brother. He had a responsibility, a duty to save him. But he had failed him. What chance would a God of control have against two tricksters?

But Akira had not seen the bigger picture. Had not seen that Akechi was a victim, twisted beyond reason by his evil father. All he could do now was let regret wash over him.

A tear had dampened the pillow Akira had buried his face into. Morgana crept up to him slowly, rubbing his face against his hair. 'There, there...' he began, but Akira had already grabbed a tissue for his face. He offered a weak smile at Morgana before switching off his lamp and, slowly, drifting into yet another uncomfortable sleep.

 _This was fun to write, if not a little sad. Before the big reunion, I want to send Akira on this little arc where he can get himself out of his shell a bit, and really take his PT days in his stride. That means exploring some themes that might be a little dark, but if that isn't the spirit of Persona I don't know what is. Sorry this took so long to finish, I like making sure nothing drags on. Hope you enjoyed!_


End file.
